


WIMTT

by JingJohk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, I also wrote insulting stuff back then, I write really weird stuff, I wrote this a long time ago, Parody, Satire, Snape thinks you're all crazy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 11:36:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17507858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JingJohk/pseuds/JingJohk
Summary: "Someone has kidnapped Hermione Granger and taken her place. What's going on? Where is Hermione? And more importantly, why's the imposter so fixated on Snape?"Old piece of writing I started in 2007, found it again and finished it in 2019.





	WIMTT

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this in 2007, quit writing, and discovered it again today. Since it was close to being done, I finished it and decided to publish it because it's a hilarious example of my early writing and also the strange ways my mind works. It's pretty much a WIKTT parody but I completely forgot what the title stands for.
> 
> I was about 19 when I wrote this and had some personal issues. I suppose I see it as being born of a rather mean-spirited urge to make fun of the whole WIKTT concept, but over ten years later it still managed to make me laugh for other reasons so here it is. I just made up the ending since I didn't remember where I was going anyway and you know what? I am okay with it if it's a piece of crap.
> 
> Also, because I have now had experience as an instructor myself, I find myself really hating WIKTT. Gross.

**Author’s Note:**

It was all just a dream in the end, gentle and sweet, with a hint of bitterness at the falsities displayed by the thinking mind.

 

~*~

 

Hermione Granger was innocently perusing the local library when a strange smell assaulted her nostrils in the middle of the non-fiction section. It had a hint of garlic to it, and possibly a bit of chamomile and jasmine mixed in, with a rank, sewer-like undertone that made her wrinkle her nose. For a moment, she blissfully assumed that some unwashed hobo had snuck into the library to browse the literary delights it contained.

 

That assumption was dashed when she turned and found a figure with wild bushy hair and wide, deranged eyes fixed on her face.

 

“Her-mi-o-ne Granger,” it rasped, and extended a claw-like hand to clutch her shoulder. An eerie grin with too-perfect teeth spread across its face. The smell of garbage intensified.

 

“Oh, my God,” said Hermione, right before her world went black.

 

~*~

 

“Dr. Granger, Dr. Granger, please sit. I understand you have some concerns you wish to address?”

 

The Grangers exchanged a loaded glance in front of Headmaster Dumbledore’s desk. “Yes, Professor,” said Dr. Granger, rubbing her thumb over her knuckles. “It’s our Hermione. She’s suddenly begun acting a tad strange and neither of us knows why. She refuses to talk to us about it and spends most of her time in her room. Sometimes we can hear something that sounds a bit like cackling at strange hours of the night.”

 

Dumbledore’s hefty white eyebrows drew together. “I can see why that would be concerning,” he said. “Do you have any idea what triggered this change in behavior?”

 

“No,” said Dr. Granger. “She came back from the library acting a bit odd, and then it only got worse from there. Last night at dinner, she started hinting vaguely that she was having an illicit affair with an older man.”

 

“We were thinking of asking if one of the faculty could keep an eye on her at school, see if they could find out what’s wrong,” said the other Dr. Granger, his spectacles glinting as he adjusted them. Unlike his wife, he spoke in measured tones, as if he were reading from a textbook rather than having a conversation. “As of yet, we cannot determine the source of the abnormal behavior, and she leaves for King’s Cross station in less than a week.”

 

“We shall, of course, do our best to help your daughter,” said Dumbledore with a nod. “Is there any staff member in particular you would like to watch over her?”

 

The two parents exchanged another loaded glance. “Not that Snape fellow, whatever you do,” Dr. Granger said. “She bursts into tears whenever one of us mentions him. Something about his abusive personality, I think.”

 

Dumbledore smiled. “Of course,” he said. “You may count on us.” He rose from his desk to see them out.

 

“Of course, Professor,” the Grangers murmured. “Thank you very much.”

 

~*~

 

The not-Hermione sat at her desk, thinking hard, as she had been the whole time since she had finally managed to infiltrate the Grangers’ house. Her wild hair had been tamed and the garbage stench replaced with a rather more fragrant one of some unidentifiable wild flower that would no doubt have Severus Snape begging on his hands and knees. And _oh_ , he would _beg_. She would make sure of it.

 

With difficulty, she tore herself away from the tempting fantasy of Severus Snape on his knees before her and went back to her current problem: seducing said Snape. The trouble here was that Severus Snape, according to Hermione’s school diary, was a mysterious and enigmatic human puzzle covered in grease and spitting acid with no visible weakness to be had. He wasn’t married, she knew (imagine the kink _that_ would have thrown into her plans), nor did he have any old girlfriends or flings. He wasn’t homosexual, bisexual, or pansexual. He just seemed like a force of nature that sucked out the souls of the children that he taught, and, in his more pitiable moments, bore resemblance to an unwanted child genius who spent his time reading books and gaining knowledge and power in spare moments. According to second year Hermione, his office held nothing but creepy preservation jars of things like the Jersey Devil and chupacabra – no books, no shelves, nothing that would indicate that he liked anything besides scaring children. Obviously she would have to bide her time and formulate a plan after school started. Some personal observation was called for.

 

Yes, she would wait. Severus Snape would not be able to escape her. Their ideal love story was just around the corner and she was willing to do just about everything short of selling her body to get him. He didn’t have a chance.

 

Or so she believed.

 

~*~

 

“Order!” Albus Dumbledore called, rapping sharply on the armrest of his chair.

 

The closest staff members just looked at him with various degrees of long-suffering on their faces.

 

“Really, Headmaster,” scoffed Minerva McGonagall. “This is not a courtroom.”

 

Dumbledore chuckled and continued. “I know the meeting is over, but there is one more issue that I think needs to be addressed,” he said. The teachers heading for the door paused to look at him. “Yesterday, the Grangers came to me with a very strange request. It appears that Hermione Granger has started to exhibit very odd behavior as of late, and they wished for the staff to keep an eye on her while she is at school.”

 

There was a pause before babble broke out among the staff. Theories were fired across the room (ranging from a severe case of PMS to Polyjuice), suggestions were made (“Leave her at it and see if there is any _improvement_ over previous years,” said Severus Snape), and concerns were expressed (“How will Gryffindor get any points?”). When the noise died down, Dumbledore offered them all a crooked smile. “The details are private, of course,” he said, “but as her teachers, I am sure you will be able to notice any strange behavior. She has become markedly withdrawn and, according to her parents, has been hinting at having relations with an older man.”

 

McGonagall stood up. “Impossible,” she declared. “Miss Granger would never do such a thing. I would swear my life on it.”

 

“I completely agree,” said Flitwick. “I simply can’t imagine her doing that. I thought we had a pool going for how long it would take for her to start dating Ron Weasley.”

 

Dumbledore flapped his hand again and said, “I have apprised all of you of the situation. Please keep an eye on Miss Granger. I find this information rather disturbing and I pray we get to the bottom of the matter as soon as possible. Minerva, as her Head of House, I would like it if you kept a closer eye on her than the other teachers.”

 

McGonagall inclined her head. “Of course,” she said. “You can count on me.”

 

“Very well, then. You are free to go.”

 

~*~

 

Not-Hermione drifted through the dark halls of Hogwarts like a shadow, Harry’s invisibility cloak hiding her from view. She would return it to its owner before he woke and realized that it was missing. For now, though, she had the whole school (and Snape) to herself, and she planned to make the most of it.

 

As a prefect, she had access to the teachers’ patrol schedules. As soon as McGonagall’s back was turned, she had zeroed in on Severus Snape’s schedule and discovered that her object of obsession had twice as many patrol nights as everyone else, which made her wonder if he had insomnia.

 

Insomnia, of course, was a weakness that she could exploit. She had started smiling broadly until McGonagall had turned back around and asked her if something was wrong.

 

And now she had put herself directly in Snape’s path. While she liked to think that the next move would be up to him, she knew she couldn’t rely on him to know what to do. He was a man, after all. So, when she heard his gliding footsteps coming around the corner, she tugged off the cloak and tucked it in her robes with an air of innocence. Then she continued walking.

 

“Miss Granger,” said a soft, silky voice moments later. It made her shiver. She turned and looked _straight_ into narrowed black eyes.

 

Oh, this would never do. When did she get nearly as tall than Severus Snape? She was supposed to be petite and fit perfectly with his body and get cricks in her neck trying to see his face. Despite all her imaginings, here he was with his beaky nose and an unexpectedly faux air of sinister anticipation of wrongdoing about him. Where she had expected him to be mysterious and intriguing, he was instead overblown and far too obvious about the whole thing. Abruptly, she realized she was gaping at him rather stupidly and shut her mouth with a click of her teeth.

 

“Hello, Professor,” she said weakly. “Have you shrunk?”

 

He glared at her. “What on earth are you doing walking around after curfew, Granger?” he demanded in lieu of answering. Not-Hermione noted that he stalked closer in the manner she would have much preferred seeing on stage from the evil side-villain while he stroked his evil moustache and cackled his evil laugh. There was a hint of genuine danger about him, but that only seemed to come from the way he appeared to be a white, grotesque mask leering from shadows than from anything deliberate on his part. His eyes were hooded and the black discs flat as he stared at her.

 

“Just walking,” she replied ambiguously, fluttering her lashes. “I was a bit lonely, you see.”

 

Snape regarded her as if he didn’t quite believe her. “And walking in the empty halls makes you less lonely?” he sneered, his top lip pulling back to reveal crooked yellow teeth. Not-Hermione found herself running through a catalogue of spells that would clean and straighten them so that she wouldn’t have nightmares about kissing him and snagging something on his front teeth.

 

“Well, I’m not lonely now that you’re here, Professor,” she said sweetly after a beat when she had run out of spells to list.

 

Snape drew back like a snake about to strike, his mask of a face clouding over with malice. She was about to act properly nervous when he backed away from her slowly until there were at least ten feet separating them. She squinted in the dark, trying to see what his expression was; his face vanished into the shadows as if he had drawn a cowl over it – or perhaps he had only been an illusion.

 

“I suggest you go to bed, Miss Granger,” the shadows said, using a soft, dangerous voice that sent even more shivers down her spine. Now _this_ was what she had been imagining. “You never know what might be hiding where the light can’t reach, waiting to _get_ you.” Before she could reply, the shadow of Severus Snape drifted back around the corner he had come from, his footsteps a mere whisper over the stone floor that swiftly disappeared.

 

When she couldn’t even hear the echoes he’d left in her mind, she smacked the wall with an open palm. “Damn!” she said. “Severus Snape, you _will_ fall for my charms even if I have to pry your jaws open and pour a love potion down your throat!” With that, she pulled Harry’s cloak out, swung it over her head and shoulders, and stalked off towards Gryffindor tower again, seething.

 

~*~

 

“I ran into Granger in the halls last night,” announced Snape at the first Heads of House meeting of the year, looming as he was wont to do in times of personal crisis. “She first commented on my height, then claimed she was walking around because she was lonely and implied that she wanted my company.” He scowled. “I have reason to believe she sought me out, as the hallway we were in was far out of the way of the usual haunts of lonely students.”

 

McGonagall also scowled. She obviously did not think much of her prize student (or rather, not so prized – all of the staff knew she was in thick with Potter and Weasley and not above suspicion) wandering about in the dark searching for men old enough to be her father.

 

“She’s been almost as tall as you since her fourth year,” squeaked Flitwick. “Why on earth would she be surprised now?” He thought for a moment. “I can’t imagine any student specifically seeking you out for your company given what you do to discourage it.”

 

“I thought I’d made it clear myself that I don’t like associating with them outside of class,” said Snape, not deigning to reply to the comment on his height. “I think that whoever it was walking around in the halls last night wasn’t Granger.”

 

“Who could it be?” wondered McGonagall. “Do they replace her all the time or are they just sneaking around with her face on at night?” Her expression darkened and turned thunderous. “When I find the culprit…”

 

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” said Sprout. “After all, her parents said that she was behaving strangely. Perhaps the switch happened this summer.”

 

“I still think we ought to lock her up and make her confess,” Snape muttered, crossing his arms and hunching his shoulders with a small shudder. “If there is one thing that I do not need this year, it’s a love-struck encyclopaedia with legs chasing after me in the middle of the night.”

 

McGonagall made a shocked noise. “Ridiculous!” she said. “The day Hermione Granger falls in love with you is the day I concede the House Cup to Slytherin!”

 

“Have you any other theories, then?” sneered Snape.

 

“Maybe she just wants to save you from yourself,” said Sprout. “Lord knows some of my younger Hufflepuffs talk about it often enough when they’re inclined to take your cloak-and-dagger act seriously.”

 

“ _Love-struck_ ,” Snape repeated, quite disgusted at the thought of Hufflepuff House chasing after him. “Hormone-addled. Doing good deeds. Prone to stupidity. It doesn’t matter what you call it, they still send me letters telling me that someone loves me in this world and offer to sit with me over a cup of cocoa discussing my bountiful crop of issues.”

 

Flitwick started chuckling quietly under his breath. Snape threw a balled up piece of parchment at him, which bounced off the smaller teacher’s forehead and into his tea.

 

“This is a very abrupt change,” said McGonagall when she had finished looking scandalized. “We should continue watching her. Given that this is the first aberration she has exhibited…” Her nostrils flared and she leveled Snape a look that could have killed small furry rodents. “Professor Snape, please tell me if you run into her again at night. I believe I will speak to her myself in the next week. Perhaps that will shed some light on the matter.”

 

Drawing his cloak up around himself as he stood, Snape said, “If I run into her in the halls again tomorrow, I will boycott my night patrol.” He glared, daring them to argue.

 

“Oh, Snape, you silly bat,” sighed Sprout. “Don’t utter such nonsense. We all know you’d just wander around anyway, patrol or not.”

 

Snape bared his teeth and left.

 

~*~

 

Not-Hermione sauntered through the halls in the dead of the night the next night, trailing the smell of wild flowers through the corridors like a perfume factory. After last night’s failed attempt at spending time with Snape, she wasn’t going to take any chances. The scent she had dabbed at her pulse points had an aphrodisiac element to it that was sure to entice him into just a little bit of scandalous eye-wandering. Perhaps it would even get him to walk for a bit with her so that she could impress him with her intellect.

 

But first, she had to find him. Normally, this wouldn’t have been hard – she had memorized his patrol route – but he wasn’t in any of the right places tonight and it was starting to frustrate her. In the back of her mind, something suggested that maybe he had changed the route in order to avoid her, but she ignored it completely in favor of trying to walk seductively and track him down at the same time. After her watch told her that it was midnight, she gave up stalking his preplanned paths and started, literally, sniffing him out.

 

Luckily for her nose, he didn’t smell bad. In fact, he had almost no personal scent aside from a slight sulfur-and-citrus smell that reminded her of his caustic personality. The rest of the smell lingering on him was the odd woody plant smell that normally permeated the Potions classroom. It brought her right to him.

 

Although her footsteps had been stealthy, her own flowery scent was not. He turned around before she got within three meters of him and sent her a glare that by all rights should have melted her on the spot. Once again, he was just a floating white face in the dark of the night, though this time Not-Hermione could consider it almost romantic, the image he made.

 

“Granger,” he spat. “If I wasn’t under the delusion that you were a law-abiding Gryffindor with no taste for older men, I would think that you were stalking me.”

 

“Oh, Professor,” whispered Not-Hermione, making sure to inject the proper amount of feminine flutter into her voice. “I didn’t see you there. Fancy meeting you here, of all places.” She gestured at the window. “I didn’t realize you voluntarily came out of the dungeons…sir,” she tacked on, making sure to keep herself respectful. It was difficult, because in the dark she was having a wonderful time imagining his equally dark good looks and glimpses of passion in his black eyes. She smiled winningly at him, all the while hoping in the back of her head that his overacting wouldn’t spoil the mood.

 

Snape, however, didn’t seem to feel the same way. He backed up slowly (again, the silly git) until his face was only a dark grey blur to her. “Indeed,” he said, practically dripping sarcasm all over the stone floor. “Why are _you_ here? I didn’t realize you went anywhere other than the library.” His voice was no longer silky with threat, instead dipping into a low rumble that was rougher around the edges and full of suspicion.

 

Her smile widened. “Just walking,” she said. “Much like you, I think.” She took a step closer to him and tried to will her perfume to reach his nose. When she squinted, she thought that she could see him sniffing with his admittedly large nostrils flaring unattractively.

 

“I beg to differ,” said Snape. “ _I_ am on patrol. _You_ are just skulking about, obviously following me about like some sort of—” He bit off the last part of what he was saying and glared instead.

 

Not-Hermione wondered what he’d been about to say, then decided to seize the chance to commiserate with him. “Patrol, Professor? That’s perfectly understandable. Students get up to all sorts of things, especially at night.”

 

Snape looked like he wanted to make some remark, but thought better of it at the last second.

 

She slid closer to him and was delighted when he didn’t back up (although perhaps that was because his back was already to the wall). “I understand completely, Professor,” she breathed. When he started to shift sideways, she moved so that she was blocking him. “Take Harry and Ron, for instance. They’re incredibly immature, don’t you think? They’re always going off trying to find ways to get Draco Malfoy in trouble, you know. When I tell them not to, they look at me like I’ve gone mad.”

 

She could feel his attention sharpen at her words. “And how often do they plot to get Mr Malfoy in trouble?” he drawled. “I understand he has been having a number of little accidents in the corridors – oddly enough, always when Potter and Weasley are around.” His eyes gleamed in the darkness. She felt a thrill and, rather daringly, moved until she was almost in his personal space. The cloying scent of wild flowers filled the air and Snape’s eyes widened.

 

“Oh, that’s them,” Not-Hermione agreed. “They send tripping hexes at him and find ways to interfere with his spells in class.”

 

“Do they? Interesting. And even more interesting that it is _you_ telling me this, Granger.”

 

She laughed throatily, which seemed to startle Snape into flight. Like quicksilver, he tried to slither out of the trap she had maneuvered him into, but she had already lunged at him and gotten her arms around his neck. When she was certain he wouldn’t poke her eye out with a bony shoulder – he had gone very still the instant she touched him – she buried her face in his neck and started wailing incoherently. Severus Snape seemed to have a panic attack. At the sound of her cries, he jerked, trying to pull away, and then resorted to reaching round behind his head and slowly prising her off. He even managed to drag her sideways in his attempts to get away. She was surprised that he didn’t just hit her, but, as she had suspected, not even Snape was cruel enough to beat a sobbing girl over the head to get away. Oh, she had known that he cared! He was so sweet.

 

“Oh, Professor,” she sighed theatrically when she had ceased her inarticulate noises, and drew away to wipe her eyes. “You have no idea how much I wish for someone intelligent to talk to. You’re a sight for sore eyes sometimes; it’s difficult finding a boy my age with a vocabulary larger than a toddler’s.” Snape made a sound deep in his throat and grimaced horribly, as if he’d just come across something even less appealing than fresh shit. Not-Hermione stepped back a little further – she was absolutely certain that he could smell her now, because her nose was quite as plugged up from the flower scent as it was from her crying – and started searching for a kerchief in her robe pockets.

 

Like a flash, he was gone, sprinting down the corridor at his top speed (which was really quite fast for someone nearing forty). She didn’t bother pursuing. Instead, triumphant, she went back to Gryffindor tower to wash the grease stains out of her shirt and hands, and to heave sighs and wonder why nobody noticed that something was wrong.

 

~*~

 

One o’clock found Severus Snape curled up on McGonagall’s couch with a cushion tucked under his chin and a cup of tea in one hand.

 

“That was not Granger,” he was saying wildly to McGonagall. “Granger does not leap at her professors and cry while wearing copious amounts of noxious perfume. Granger does not have the strength of a bear. Something has obviously killed her and taken her place and,” he shuddered convulsively and curled up tighter, “it is after _me_.”

 

McGonagall, for her part, pursed her lips and continued patting him on the shoulder. “There, there, Severus,” she said. “Have another cuppa and go to bed. We can speak to the Headmaster in the morning.”

 

Snape didn’t seem to hear her. “I’m going to go into hiding,” he mumbled to his tea. “I won’t go on night patrols, I’ll move my quarters, I’ll stop teaching class – I’ll leave Hogwarts! She won’t be able to find me then. If it even is a ‘she’, anyway. It felt like it.”

 

“Go to bed,” urged McGonagall, “before I cut off your tea intake.”

 

“It’s not _safe_ ,” protested Snape. “It could be out there, waiting for me.”

 

“There, there,” she said again. “Finish that and I’ll walk you to your rooms. Your wards will be more than enough to keep it at bay.”

 

Snape twitched and hissed, “Good.” He picked up the pillow in his lap and moved off the couch. “I’m taking this with me. Just in case.”

 

McGonagall sighed and wondered what else the school year had in store for her.

 

~*~

 

“Hermione?”

 

Not-Hermione glanced up at Harry’s hovering face, partially obscured by a stack of books. In keeping with Hermione’s character, she had started hoarding books and studying for OWLs, meaning that the table she habitually sat at in the Gryffindor common room had now been barricaded from the outside world by numerous textbooks. There was a carefully constructed a window through which people could talk to her, even. What more could she need?

 

“Are you okay?” asked Harry when she didn’t respond. “You do know that OWLs are—”

 

“At the end of the year, I know,” she said impatiently. “I just thought I’d get started.”

 

“But Hermione, it’s _October!_ ” Ron’s freckled face appeared in the window with Harry’s, looking appalled. “Don’t make us dig you out!” His face vanished and reappeared over the top of the wall of books. Not-Hermione bent over her study sheet again. Unnoticed, Ron folded his arms on top of the books most in danger of collapsing under his weight.

 

“You may not be worried about your grades,” she said, “but I happen to find them very important. They let you into NEWT level classes based on how you do on your OWLs, and frankly, I’m already very worried about the examinations—Ron, don’t touch those!” She looked up at the last second, in time to see the books Ron was leaning on give out. What followed was a veritable avalanche of texts that knocked over Not-Hermione’s inkpots – all over her homework, too – and landed on toes and so on. Harry, who had foreseen the imminent disaster, bolted away from the cascade of books and laughed when Ron howled as they crashed onto his feet.

 

Not-Hermione, for her part, sat watching black ink seep into her Arithmancy homework in something akin to shock. The Gryffindor common room went quiet as everyone watched the final few books slide off the table and land on the floor with varying loud thumps.

 

“Oh, bugger,” said Ron when he realized what had happened. “I’m really sorry, Hermione. Here, let me clean it up—”

 

“It’s fine,” interrupted Not-Hermione shrilly. She smiled tremulously. “They’re just books, a little fall won’t hurt them. And I think I remember most of what I’d written down for this assignment.” Her smile grew a bit. Ron began to look nervous.

 

“ _Evanesco_ ,” said another voice. The spilled ink vanished, leaving the Arithmancy homework clean with the answers still written on it. Not-Hermione turned to look at the stern visage of Professor McGonagall. “Miss Granger,” she said. “Please follow me, there is something I need to discuss with you.” With a swish of her robes, she marched out of the common room. Not-Hermione gave Ron a warning glare (he started picking up books) and scurried after McGonagall.

 

The walk to McGonagall’s office was ominously silent. Feeling as if there was a foreboding cloud of Doom hovering over her head, Not-Hermione slid into the room behind her teacher and stood nervously as McGonagall seated herself behind the desk and folded her hands.

 

“Miss Granger, it has come to my attention that you have been…following Professor Snape,” said McGonagall, a frown crossing her face briefly.

 

Not-Hermione froze. “Oh, no, Professor,” she said nervously. “Well, I have run into him a few times outside of class, but I haven’t been—been _deliberately_ following him.”

 

“I also have been made to understand that you physically forced him to touch you,” McGonagall continued over her weak protests. “Specifically, you— _quite inappropriately_ —embraced him and clung with, and I quote, ‘unnatural strength’ even when he made it quite clear that he wished for you to release him.”

 

“But…but!” gasped Not-Hermione desperately, tears springing to her eyes. She clawed around for an explanation, but all that came to mind were excuses that laid the blame on poor Professor Snape, and it just wouldn’t do to have him kicked out of school. McGonagall watched her gape like a stranded fish before coming to her rescue.

 

“Now, Miss Granger, I know that you would never do anything of the sort, especially with a professor,” she said, tapping her index finger on the desk. “I have reason to believe that someone is masquerading as you and assaulting Professor Snape in an attempt to incriminate you. I simply wished to inform you of the situation.” Kindly, she offered a handkerchief, which Not-Hermione took gratefully to dab at her eyes.

 

“Thank you, Professor,” said Not-Hermione thickly. “I think whoever would do that is a despicable person. Poor Professor Snape.”

 

McGonagall gazed at her shrewdly for a moment. “Yes,” she agreed. “Poor Professor Snape.” She stood and motioned towards the door. Relieved, Not-Hermione excused herself and fled to the safety of her bed. Distantly, she noted that Ron had put all of her books back onto her table and both he and Harry were nowhere to be found.

 

~*~

 

“Now that I think of it, she’s been acting a little off since school started,” said Harry, stroking an imaginary beard on his chin thoughtfully. Harry and Ron were sitting on a bench outside, watching Madam Hooch tutor some struggling first years on broomsticks out on the grounds. “You don’t think it’s because of anything…” He gestured vaguely, clearly uncomfortable with what he was suggesting.

 

Ron dropped the bit of toast he had filched from the breakfast table in shock. “No, Harry!” he said, horrified. “Not our Hermione! I’d rather it be a Death Eater.” The two boys fell silent, contemplating the possibility. It was entirely probable that Hermione had been kidnapped and replaced by some sort of evildoer. After all, Mad Eye Moody had been taken captive in his own trunk just last year. Anything could have happened to her in the time between the end of fourth year and the beginning of fifth year.

 

Now, though, it was just a matter of finding out _what_.

 

“There’s only one solution to this that I can see, Ron,” Harry declared after a long silence filled with Ron chewing toast. “We’ll have to sneak into the library in the dead of night into the Restricted Section, and find out how anyone could swap identities with Hermione without Polyjuice.”

 

“This toast is good—really, really good, I mean,” mumbled Ron. “Not like burnt toast – it’s pretty brown and all – but I wonder if they do anything special with it.”

 

Harry shoved his glasses against the bridge of his nose with a finger. “Ron,” he said, the light glinting off the lenses enough to blind a passing third year. “Aren’t you listening to me?”

 

“Haven’t you noticed? Hermione’s not ranting about House Elves this year,” Ron said. “All she does is talk about homework, homework, homework – oh, and OWLs, whenever the subject comes up. I reckon that’s pretty unusual behavior for Hermione, don’t you? Suspicious. She doesn’t even walk with us to class anymore.”

 

“Like I said,” said Harry in a long-suffering way, “I think we ought to start researching ways that Hermione could get replaced with someone else.”

 

“Not even just that,” Ron muttered, ignoring Harry completely. “I sit in the common room late a lot, right? Well, I was sitting in the corner these past few nights and I keep seeing her walking out of the portrait hole after curfew. I know she’s a prefect and all, but I’m pretty sure her patrol routes aren’t on those nights. She’s sneaking out somewhere.”

 

“Very suspicious,” Harry agreed. They shared a look, and he smiled rather deviously. “My cloak is in my trunk. Shall we, my dear Weasley?”

 

Ron pretended to check his timetables. “Well, Potter, I think I can fit you in somewhere in my busy schedule.”

 

~*~

 

“Scene four,” Granger muttered, pacing the halls she had been assigned to patrol that night. “I’m not even to scene two yet, let alone four! My schedule is completely buggered. I’ll never finish at this rate.” She chewed on her bottom lip, frowning. In one hand, she held her wand, which was lit up and pointing at the parchment she grasped in her other hand. The parchment was covered in marks and scribbles and a messy list. With an exasperated noise, she tucked the parchment into a wide-mouthed pocket and waved her wand half-heartedly, extinguishing it. “Where could he be?”

 

The shadows in the hall expanded with the absence of light and became even darker than before. Someone with more imagination would have easily been able to see a black-clad figure lurking nearby.

 

Grumbling, Granger made her way back to the Gryffindor common room, not noticing the slight tug on her robes as long yellow fingers dipped into the wide pocket and came away with the scribbled-on parchment, nor the whisper of boots on stone as Sev scooted away from her with his prize.

 

Only when she disappeared around a corner did Sev look at what he held. Tsking softly in annoyance at himself for being reduced to pick-pocketing unsuspecting girls for information, he unfolded the paper and held it in the beam of moonlight coming from the window next to him.

 

_WIKTT –_

_Scene 1, HG meets SS beg. of school year, gains new perspective with maturity (past experiences?)_

_Scene 2, HG finds something in common w/ SS, night patrols? Loneliness? Intellectually? Note good looks (pls fix teeth+hair at some point)_

 

“What the hell _is_ this?” he wondered out loud. There was more of it, which, if he substituted ‘Hermione Granger’ for HG and his own name for SS, gradually got more sickening down the line. Scene 7 had someone being grievously injured and the appended note ‘emotional bonding in hos. wing’ along the side. Even more disturbing was Scene Question Mark, which mentioned marriage and an epilogue involving children. It was like an epidemic, this desire females seemed to have for slobbery little offspring and men who didn’t mind changing nappies.

 

He tucked the parchment into one of his own more secure pockets for further deliberation. Something obviously needed to be done, but the question was what, exactly? “Where in the world is Hermione Granger?” he asked himself. McGonagall seemed to think the not-Granger creature was out and about only in the nighttime, where there were no witnesses. In his personal opinion – which had far more merit than McGonagall’s biased one – whoever was impersonating Granger had most likely gone the distance and replaced her completely. Unless this creature had a place to stay during the day that let it remain undetected by the more supernatural parts of the castle, it was unlikely that the daytime Granger was not the not-Granger he’d just seen.

 

Thoughtful, Sev returned to his room and pulled the story outline out again. In the efficient light of his perfectly muggle desk lamp, he could see it had been folded and unfolded so many times that it was starting to rip itself into quarters. Did the thing have nothing else to do besides torture him? He scowled and pulled out his own parchment.

 

_Step 1_ , he wrote, _place bug on not-G without rousing suspicion. Track to G. Step 2, Proceed with heroic rescue. Step 3, Dump G on AD and wash hands of it. Hopefully eliminate stalker._

 

This should be quite easy, he thought.

 

~*~

 

“How did she _find_ us?” Harry asked the virtually empty common room.

 

Ron, sitting next to him, had his face in his hands. There was a red hand-shape beginning to bloom on one cheek. “I dunno,” he groaned. “This is the last time I try sneaking after her. Did you see what she did?” He lifted his head to look at Harry. “She sniffed the air and then she tackled us! Bloody tackled us! I ask you, what human being can sniff someone out from under an invisibility cloak? They can’t! It’s impossible!”

 

“Obviously whatever’s got Hermione isn’t human,” said Harry. “So where’s Hermione?”

 

“Good question,” Ron said. “If there’s anyone who knows that, it’s Not-Hermione.” He rubbed the handprint as if he just noticed it. “She isn’t going to tell us anything.”

 

“Let’s look up ways to make ourselves scentless so we can track her again.” Harry stood up.

 

“Let’s not,” said Ron. “Why don’t we tell McGonagall? Or Dumbledore, even? They could lock whatever it is up and make it tell us where to find Hermione. Hell, even Snape could do something more useful than we can.”

 

“None of them will believe us,” said Harry, annoyed. “After all, what are we? Just a bunch of kids!”

 

“Yeah, but we see more of Hermione than they do,” Ron said. “We’d get more credit that way. And anyway, we can steal that paper she’s always fussing over and give it to them as proof.”

 

Harry looked dubious. “We can try,” he said. “If it doesn’t work, we’ll go about it on our own.”

 

~*~

 

Not-Hermione wasn’t sure whether to be nervous or overjoyed when she next encountered Snape in the hallways. He looked to be in a terrible mood when he appeared outside the door of the Transfiguration as she was exiting, and clapped a hand down on her shoulder as he growled, “Move it, Granger.” She found herself pinned to the spot by a pair of cold black eyes that felt as if they were scouring over every feature on her face with a wire scrub brush. Flinching, she prayed silently that her disguise would hold up well enough against the scrutiny so she wouldn’t have to modify his memory. After a brief staring contest, she found herself shunted to the other side of the entryway, and caught a whiff of what smelt like hot cocoa as he brushed by.

 

“Whoops, ‘scuse me, Professor Snape,” said Dean Thomas’s voice from behind her as Snape moved through the students streaming in the other direction. “Hey, Granger, you’re blocking the doorway.”

 

Flustered, she moved again and frowned as the rest of her classmates left. Harry and Ron exploded out of the classroom with wild looks on their faces until Ron spotted her next to the door and nudged Harry. “There you are, Hermione,” Harry said, sounding relieved. “Snape’s on the warpath. Haranguing McG as we speak.”

 

“Yeah, let’s get out of here before he finds a reason to take points,” said Ron.

 

Lavender and Parvati drifted out of the classroom, capturing their attention with giggling whispers. Harry and Ron looked on with incredulous expressions, but Not-Hermione listened with rapt fascination as Lavender whispered, “Professor Snape smells like he’s been in a chocolate factory – mmm!”

 

“I bet he has a secret sweet tooth,” Parvati muttered back.

 

When they were out of earshot, Ron said, “Fancy getting close enough to Snape to smell him!” He shuddered as if he thought it was a bad thing.

 

Not-Hermione wrinkled her nose. “Well, he did smell a bit like hot cocoa when he went past,” she said. “I expect that was because they’re brewing something that uses chocolate as an ingredient in Potions.”

 

She frowned when she saw Ron staring at her. “You were close enough to sniff him?” he asked, horrified. “Oh! Oh! Just imagine—argh!” The idea had left him speechless.

 

“Honestly, Ron, he doesn’t smell that bad! It isn’t as if he doesn’t _bathe_ —” Fortunately, she was distracted from noticing the twin looks of suspicion on Ron’s and Harry’s faces by the subject of their conversation arriving in the doorway with his customary sneer.

 

“Five points for lingering in the corridor,” Snape said. “What are you lot up to this time?”

 

Not-Hermione dithered a bit and missed the glance Ron and Harry sent as one her way, though she did see Snape’s eyes narrow and dart back and forth between them.

 

“Nothing, sir,” Harry said after a moment. “We were just discussing—erm...why do you smell like chocolate?”

 

Not-Hermione almost gasped at his rudeness. Snape just blinked. “I drank some,” he said. Then he glared. “Now that your juvenile curiosity has been satisfied, why don’t you consider getting to class?”

 

“Just going now, Professor,” Ron said, and herded the other two away and out of sight.

 

When she was sure he wouldn’t hear, she whirled. “How could you just ask him like that?” she demanded.

 

The two boys stared at her, wide-eyed. “But Hermione, we ask him stuff like that all the time!” said Harry. “Everyone does—well, unless they’re Neville.”

 

“Yeah, and it’s better than not asking because if you don't, he thinks you’re up to something,” Ron added. “Anyway, weren’t you the one that asked him last year if he’d ever gone scrumping in the Forbidden Forest?”

 

“Scrumping is stealing,” Not-Hermione said gravely.

 

“Yeah, he said there weren’t any apple trees in there to nick from, or any walls, either,” Ron said, rolling his eyes. “Why’d you ask him that, anyway?”

 

She pressed her lips together, thinking fast. “Just curious,” she said stiffly, and started for her next class. Hopefully that would keep them from asking any more questions.

 

Harry gazed after her, frowning. A long-fingered yellow hand slammed down on his shoulder and he let out a girlish shriek as it wheeled him around to face Snape’s chocolate-scented visage.

 

“Mr Potter, Mr Weasley,” said Snape. Gone was the cloak-and-dagger let’s-intimidate-the-students act. In its place was surly, clever, sneaky Severus Snape, hot on the trail of Hermione Granger—and look here! Some willing informants!

 

“Hi again, Professor Snape,” Ron said weakly.

 

Snape smiled. It wasn’t nice.

 

~*~

 

“First Snape, now Umbridge,” Ron moaned. “The world is against us, Mr Potter.”

 

Harry grunted and prodded at the back of his hand carefully. Blood leaked out. “I need a plaster,” he said. “And stitches.”

 

Ron scowled. “That crazy old hag,” he said. “Let’s set Snape on her. He’d steal her stuff and find a way to put pins on her seat.”

 

Harry snorted. “You heard him earlier, he’s trying to track down Hermione.” Told them to stay out of his greasy way, too. He sighed at the memory. “We’ll have to do something about that toad ourselves.”

 

Ron scanned the room for listeners, and leaned in close when nobody paid any attention. “I think Fred’n’George are cooking something up,” he whispered. “No one sleeps in the same room as them because of all the explosions these days.”

 

“Brill. That doesn’t really change the fact that I’ve got words carved on the back of my hand,” Harry growled.

 

“Guess it doesn’t,” Ron admitted. “We can ask McG if she has any plasters, if you like.”

 

~*~

 

Sev was not amused to discover that not-Granger preferred to keep her suspicious wandering confined to nighttime, lingering along his former patrol route and darting off into different side corridors to look for him. He wasn’t finding anything out from stalking her, as she was stalking _him_.

 

At the moment, he was lurking next to one of the school’s many oversized tapestries, watching as a little dot labeled ‘NG’ moved about otherwise empty halls scribed on a small piece of parchment. Though he’d made sure to place himself in a fairly out of the way location, not-Granger was slowly making her (its?) way over to him. He’d already moved twice in the past hour, and she’d sped up every time she reached the last hiding place. If he weren’t absolutely certain not-Granger was some sort of beast, he would have been completely confounded by the pattern of movements. As it was, he was certain she was tracking—no, hunting—him by scent. He would have to move again soon.

 

The little dot sped up again as it neared, as if not-Granger had finally caught a fresh trail. Sev quickly stuffed the map into an inner robe pocket and shifted so he was half behind the tapestry.

 

It was only the map’s forewarning that saved him. Not-Granger had obviously got her hands on Mini-Potter’s wretched invisibility cloak, and only her wand tip showed when she went to stun him. Sev let the spell hit the tapestry, then faked passing out and slumping against the wall.

 

“Hah!” Through his lashes, he watched her whisk off the cloak and kneel next to him with a triumphant expression on her face. “Got you at last, Mr Snape,” she murmured. “Now to get you to a proper resting spot.” It took all of his self-control to stay limp when she bloody well _picked him up_ and slung him across her shoulders like he was some sort of mink-fur stole. She apparently had the same thought, because she stroked his thigh—he suppressed a shudder—and said, “You make for a rather frightening fashion accessory, Severus.”

 

The long walk to wherever she was going was extremely bumpy and uncomfortable. He made a note to never let anyone smaller than Hagrid carry him like this ever again, and tried to keep his breathing slow and in time with his heart. The sigh of relief when she finally put him in a much more comfortable chair in a disused classroom was difficult to hold back, but he managed to roll limply about in a convincing manner and not give himself away. She left him alone then to root through all of her pockets for a roll of parchment she’d written all over.

 

“Subject is stunned, cannot resist the spell,” she said. “Let’s see.” Not-Granger once again turned her wand on him. “Non-verbal, right.” She frowned in his direction and the end of her wand lit up. He felt something prod at his brain and threw up shields, but it retreated almost immediately and didn’t return. Obviously not-Granger needed rather more practice than Granger did. No doubt Granger would have realized he was not stunned by now, since stunning spells never lasted very long.

 

“Subject should remain in stunned position,” the bushy-haired moron read out loud. Sev took a moment to ponder whether idiocy was part and parcel of being a Gryffindor in general with Lily as an exception, or if it was just a coincidence that all the ones he had met in his long, illustrious career were lacking in the brains department. “Give ending syllable. Oh.” She cleared her throat and spoke at him, “Vik.” Without waiting for any kind of response—not that he’d been planning on giving any—she returned to her notes. “Ending syllable used at the end of a single order or message. Right, got that. Recite order or message to subject. After ending syllable, subject should respond with an affirmative in keeping with their personality. If the order or message meets with any resistance, change it until it works. Simple conversations can be achieved with subject to find out what would be acceptable to them.” Not-Granger put the notes down and tried in vain to get him to sit up straight, but he only flopped over again with a vengeance. She made an impatient noise and left off.

 

“Well, what should we start with?” she muttered to herself. “How about this: You will fall in love with Hermione Granger. Vik.”

 

Sev grunted in distaste before he could stop himself.

 

“Was that a yes?” not-Granger asked.

 

“No,” he said, trying to keep his tone somewhat level and not start screaming hysterically and throwing himself out the nearest window to escape.

 

“I figured it would be,” she said. “Let’s go with something else then. You will be less insulting toward all the students, especially Gryffindors, and stop favoring your House so much. Vik.”

 

This time he growled, though deliberately. Looking thoroughly exasperated, she slapped a hand on his knee and growled back. It was far more menacing than Sev’s growl had been and strengthened his resolve to play dead until she got tired of playing and left.

 

“Fine,” she said when she got control of herself. “I should have realized you would be stubborn even when unconscious. Wash your hair with anti-grease shampoo every day, vik.”

 

“Very well,” he said after a moment. Not-Granger cheered up immediately.

 

“Oh, good.” She tweaked the end of his nose. “Wish I could do something about this, but I guess it adds a bit of character,” she said to herself. “It’s quite a bit beakier than I thought it would be. I was expecting something more dignified. What you’ve got is like a mistake of nature.”

 

That did lift up his self-esteem. _Thanks such a lot_ , he thought sourly. _I shall be sure to inform you when I decide to become someone’s dashing long-nosed hero in black drapery._

 

She summoned a chair from across the room. To his disgust, she sat like a teenage boy with her legs spread far apart despite the shorter-than-any-school-regulations-in-the-world pleated skirt she was wearing. No doubt Gilderoy Lockhart would have been thrilled to be in his position, but not Severus Snape. Now, if it were a pretty redheaded woman sitting like this in front of him and he were not pretending to be stunned, maybe he would sing a different tune. But this thing? Repulsive. If she did anything remotely suggestive, he would be forced to vomit.

 

“How long does this spell last?” not-Granger said, dragging his attention away from being disgusted. She consulted her notes—Granger would _never_ have needed to double-check every step—and sighed. “Time’s almost up. I knew I should have just invested in a love potion.” She leaned forward to peer into his face. He shut his eyes all the way and hoped she hadn’t seen. “You will be more open to Hermione Granger in conversations, vik,” she ordered.

 

“Very well,” he intoned blandly.

 

“Do you like reading?” she asked him.

 

“No,” he said, peeking through his lashes again to watch her reaction.

 

“ _What?_ ” she shrilled, as if he’d just destroyed her childhood. “Why on earth not?” He wondered if there was anything in his demeanor that suggested he liked to read. Run around like a madman and act on stage, maybe he could believe, but reading?

 

“I find it boring,” he said. The only real reason he read at all was to learn new spells he could use. How could he use spells if he spent all his time hunched over a book?

 

“How about reading for fun?” she persisted.

 

“Boring,” he growled. What part of ‘I don’t like reading’ did she not understand?

 

“You don’t like intellectual pursuits?” she asked, frowning.

 

“Reading for fun is not an intellectual pursuit.” He could not resist pointing that out, really. Was she mentally deficit? Irritated, he shook his head and pretended to stir. There was a burst of clattering sounds. When he lifted his head, the room was empty.

 

Sev grinned after he’d made certain he was alone. He’d just survived an encounter with the Beast of Hogwarts, with no panicked running for McGonagall’s sitting room. The grin faded as he reminded himself that he had yet to find out where the real Hermione Granger was located. It looked like letting the Beast catch him did absolutely no good besides confirming beyond a doubt that not-Granger was not Granger.

 

Perhaps it was time to take more drastic measures.

 

~*~

 

He was pretty sure that today was a very terrible day for him to have gotten out of bed. Oh, it had started out all right, which was about as good as it got when you had that nutter Snape for a head and poncy prince Potter strutting around when he hadn’t even got any parents, but it immediately went downhill from there when Zabini appeared like a howling banshee in the common room and started making some noise about the Dark Lord and rebellions. It took everyone five minutes to figure out that the Death Eaters had stormed Hogwarts; five whole blasted minutes wasted trying to get something remotely resembling English out of that idiot! Then everyone ran screaming out the portrait hole and chaos took up residence without paying the rent. Draco had ended up halfway down the fourth floor stairs, stuck in one of the trick steps that he’d forgotten about in his excitement, and bemoaning the fact that he was missing everything.

 

Then the Death Eaters themselves had run by. They jumped the trick step, calling over their shoulders, “Thanks for warning us, mate!” So much for solidarity! He’d been so angry that he’d just pulled out his wand and vowed to hex anyone that ran by.

 

Of course, Potter and his two minions were the next ones to fly down the stairs, probably in pursuit of some reward money so Weasley could afford a pair of trousers that weren’t worn in the seat. He tried tripping them up, but that Granger creature had thrown up a shield and they’d just kept going like he wasn’t even there. Too furious to think, he’d started tossing hexes every which way, not caring if he even hit any human targets, and as his luck was buggered up anyway, he’d opened up a secret door by accident and out tumbled—Granger?

 

“Hello, Malfoy,” the wild-haired beastly version of Granger had said. “I was hoping you’d notice the door.” Then she’d tackled him, stole his wand, and ran off after the idiot duo and her evil twin, leaving him still stuck in the trick step with the added bonuses of wandlessness and extreme confusion.

 

So, in short, today was a very terrible day. And bugger it, now he was stuck up to his calf in the step. How could it get any worse?

 

“Malfoy, you simpering idiot! What are you doing standing around? The werewolves are coming!” Professor Snape was already gone by the last word, his black cloak flapping like a flock of oversized birds behind him.

 

“Oh, help,” Draco whimpered.

 

~*~

 

Sev had no doubt that the day would have been quite as terrible even if he hadn’t bothered getting out of bed—in fact, it would have been worse because he would be flying about in his nightshirt, which he had to admit was not exactly the most attractive sight to be had in Hogwarts. Besides, there was something undignified about becoming a hero in nothing but a thin layer of flannel and your own skin.

 

Of course, his main goal in case of a Death Eater attack was to rescue that idiot Potter from getting himself killed, but he would only accomplish that if he found Potter before Potter found anyone else. And before he found Potter, he found the werewolves.

 

Sev wasn’t sure where that bastard Riddle had gotten the magic to change werewolves in broad daylight during the new moon, but he was sure he didn’t like it, especially when they decided to start snapping at his heels and drooling everywhere. Werewolf saliva being extremely infectious, he’d fled before any of it got on his skin and somehow found himself in the highest part of the castle, where all the fighting seemed to be taking place. From there, it was easy to find Potter and Weasley trying to duel three other Death Eaters at once.

 

Really, he had all that running to blame for his tackling of the nearest Death Eater and subsequent bashing of the victim’s head on the floor repeatedly until they passed out. It was a complete accident—in fact, the students’ robes were the same color. Why did no one pick out a proper team color before engaging in war?

 

“Snape! What the bloody hell are you doing?” one of the other Death Eaters shouted, dodging another one of Potter’s poorly aimed disarming spells.

 

Sev let go of McNair’s head. “I apologize,” he said. “I thought it was a student and was seized with a violent urge to tackle him.”

 

“Bollocks!” snapped the other Death Eater (that fool Roundtree, by the sound of the voice).

 

“So it is,” acknowledged Sev. “Obliviate! Obliviate!” The two cloaked figures stopped what they were doing immediately and looked dazed, their wands hanging at their sides. Weasley’s belated curse gave one of them boils. “Congratulations, you morons. You just got yourselves captured by a pair of schoolboys.” He trussed all three up and left Potter and Weasley to contemplate their victory over Evil.

 

The next room contained a mutated lump of robe that moaned in pain. The poor sod had obviously triggered one of McGonagall’s nastier traps which Sev had not bothered informing the Death Eaters about. He left the lump to its fate and tried another room.

 

There was just enough time to register the presence of someone else when a dull boom echoed through the castle. A split second later Sev pitched himself headfirst into the room as the walls collapsed in on themselves and the floor dropped several meters. The other person fell on him with a high-pitched shriek.

 

The shaking went on for a bit, then stopped as quickly as it had come. Sev shoved the other person off and stood up. His head scraped the ceiling and he cursed when he opened his eyes to find it pitch black.

 

Trapped in a cave-in. How cliché. He nudged his fellow prisoner and nearly groaned when he recognized the voice that moaned back.

 

“Hello, Professor Snape,” said that sinister-sweet voice when it had finished moaning.

 

“Hello, not-Granger,” he sneered back. “Tell me, was this your plan all along, to trap me in here with you, or was it just a happy coincidence?” He flicked his wand and created a little ball of light that sprang away from the tip to hover at the highest point of his new private room in Hell. The ghostly white light revealed the Beast crouched near his ankles with a toothy smile on its face and the two by four meters of floor space now available.

 

The Beast seemed to get a-hold of itself and revert back to its Granger disguise after a moment. “This is really a very unlucky thing to happen, Professor. I don’t know why you’d think it was a happy coincidence.” It edged closer to him and looked up at him in a way it likely thought was appealing.

 

“Stay away from me,” he growled, and paced the edges of the room, looking for a way out. A bit of shoving and digging won him a hole the size of his fist, but when he peered outside, all he could see was the far-off sanctuary of Hogwarts-endorsed turf. Pity he didn’t know how to fly without a broomstick.

 

“Professor...”

 

“Shut up, I’m trying to think,” he said. Dare he kill the Beast and use its body as a cushion? No, the fall was too far for that. Though perhaps he would kill the Beast just to preserve his own skin.

 

“Professor.” It was not to be ignored. Sev turned to regard the Beast warily. It was standing up now and was staring at him with that same unnervingly direct gaze that had so put him off the first time it had found him. “You know, I think we have something in common now. You, me, alone in this extremely isolated little cave...what’s a girl to do?”

 

Sev managed to spit out a hex to blind it before he went down under its weight. His wand went flying into the rubble as they grappled furiously, rolling over various bits of stone wall and whacking their heads on jutting bricks as they went. The Beast was not as strong as he had feared, fortunately; the only advantage it had on him was the element of surprise, and that wasn’t an issue any longer. Sev had height and weight on his side, though his knees kept banging into rubble in the small space.

 

It also kept attempting to embrace him for some strange reason. He forced himself on top and smashed his elbow across its face once, twice, three times and it finally went limp. Sev untangled himself from the wretched thing and had to bind it with the same spell twice before he felt satisfied. Then he gagged it with some duct tape he had conveniently stored in a pocket for that very purpose.

 

Satisfied, he sat back to wait for someone to dig him out. No doubt it wouldn’t take long. Potter just couldn’t resist trying to be a hero.

 

~*~

 

It hadn’t taken long for Harry and Ron to dig Professor Snape and Not-Hermione out of the little cave-in, though it would take them a very long time to get over the measly five points he’d reluctantly awarded them for helping out.

 

“You, Potter, are a pain in the arse,” Snape panted as he dragged the bound and gagged imposter behind him, making sure to go over every single sharp rock he saw on the way to the headmaster’s office. “Five points is nothing compared to the self-restraint I need to keep from wringing your acne-infested neck. Count yourselves lucky I didn’t stun you just to keep from listening to you whinge about every single little thing I do.”

 

“With all due respect, sir, I think we should get at least ten points apiece for saving you from starving to death with Not-Hermione as company,” Harry pointed out, quite reasonably he thought.

 

“Oho, so you think you got five points apiece for digging me out? Well, well, Potter, there is where you are wrong!” Snape started down a flight of stairs. Not-Hermione moaned in agony and tried to keep her head off the floor while Ron tried to keep from stepping on her hair as it trailed behind like extra-hairy tumbleweed. They’d discovered it was her real hair when Harry had tugged on it to begin dismantling her disguise. “Five points total for exhibiting the mental capacity of an average human being—and that’s stretching it with you two nincompoops. Don’t think I didn’t hear the discussion you had outside.”

 

Harry sighed and didn’t say anything else until they reached the headmaster’s office and Snape announced the password (“Mentos! No, I am not using a Japanese accent, now open up!”). “Shouldn’t we be helping with—y’know—the invasion and everything?” he asked.

 

“Absolutely not.” Snape replied. “I’ll have you know that the traps we set around the castle are very efficient and there’s no need to go stumbling about into any of them unless you’re a Death Eater.” A dull explosion and a scream from down the hall punctuated his statement.

 

Professor Dumbledore was not in his office when they made it up the spiral staircase. Snape made it his goal to use up a whole roll of duct tape securing Not-Hermione to a chair before he settled down himself with a tired grunt. Ron filched sweets from the handy bowl on Dumbledore’s desk and spread himself out over the seat next to the fire. Harry decided to greet Fawkes, who was on his perch keeping a watchful eye on them.

 

“You know, I don’t think you needed to use that much tape, Professor,” Ron said after a moment.

 

“Shut up, Weasley,” Snape growled. “All of it was necessary. Do you have any idea how strong this thing is?”

 

Ron looked puzzled. “Well, she’s kind of skinny,” he said.

 

“Don’t be stupid, Ron,” a familiar and very welcome voice said. Hermione, her bushy hair even worse from being stuck in a closet all year, came out from where she’d been hiding in the Headmaster’s desk. “That’s no ordinary girl. I suspect she’s powered by obsession.”

 

“Hermione!” Ron and Harry immediately leapt up and ran to her.

 

“Ah, Miss Granger,” said Snape. “Good of you to finally join us.” She nodded her bushy head at him and bent to examine Not-Hermione.

 

“She looks a bit beat up,” she said, pushing Not-Hermione’s hair from her face to look at the massive purpling bruises from Snape’s elbows.

 

“Better her bruised than me molested,” Snape said, inspecting his hands. Then he leaned forward and stared at Hermione. “I am curious, Miss Granger, about how you managed to escape, given how hard we have been searching these past few months.”

 

“Malfoy,” Hermione admitted. “He got stuck in the trick step, you see, and I think he got a little upset, because he started throwing hexes everywhere. One of them opened up the hidden door I was trapped behind. Erm, this is his wand, by the way. Sorry.” She pulled Malfoy’s wand out of her pocket and gave it to Snape.

 

“Stuck in the trick step?” Snape went the color of sour milk. “I see.”

 

“Sorry we couldn't find you,” Harry said. “We did try.”

 

“Yeah, honestly,” Ron added.

 

Hermione sighed and smiled at her two friends. “It's all right,” she said. “She was awfully clever about it. Not her acting I mean, but how she hid me. She put me through a door that led to a brick wall and could only be opened by someone who despised me. I suppose the logic was that someone who despised me would never bother to look for me. Too bad for her it was at the trick step.”

 

“It seems to me that you had an extraordinary stroke of luck,” Snape remarked. “Now I shall have to go back and pry him out of the step. Wonderful.” He eyed Not-Hermione suspiciously as her head lolled. Was that really enough duct tape or did he need to summon a second roll?

 

“Oi, she still looks like Hermione,” Ron said. “Reckon it's Polyjuice?”

 

“A glamour,” Snape said. He jabbed his wand in her direction. Sparks flew from the tip, but nothing happened to Not-Hermione. “Oh, of course,” he muttered under his breath. “You _would_ choose to be clever at least once.”

 

“What if she's a secret twin?” Harry asked, a bit wildly. “Hermione and her, separated at birth!”

 

“Harry, really!” Hermione said impatiently. “She just specializes in spells that require specific conditions to break them. Professor Snape probably can't break most of them since she's warded specifically against him. He's lucky she hasn't tried casting some sort of coercion on him yet.” She paced, thinking hard.

 

“I fancy we'll soon see your hair catch fire,” Snape remarked. “Enough, Miss Granger. The headmaster can deal with this. He should arrive any—”

 

Dumbledore conveniently strolled in at that very moment, glass jars dangling from his skinny old fingertips. The three children stared in utter amazement at the jars. Each contained a miniature Death Eater, most of them banging miniscule fists on the glass while screaming dire threats in voices too small to be heard. Dumbledore set the jars on his desk and beamed vaguely at everyone, including Not-Hermione. “Wonderful, wonderful,” he said. “I see we finally got hold of the real Miss Granger.”

 

“She freed herself in a sequence of strange events and coincidences,” said Snape. “I captured the Be—her imposter a short while ago. The wretched creature attempted to murder me.”

 

“Yeah, and Ron and I rescued him,” Harry said loudly. “We got five points for it too!”

 

“Don't think you can wheedle more points out of this situation, Potter,” Snape said warningly.

 

“Settle down, settle down,” Dumbledore said. “Now, let's see what we have here...” He bent over Not-Hermione. “Ahh. Yes. I see. Young lady, there is no need to feign unconsciousness any longer. Please make yourself comfortable.”

 

As Snape grumbled that she didn't deserve to be comfortable and the three children quietly thought to themselves that anyone duct taped as thoroughly as that could not possibly move to even begin to make themselves comfortable, Not-Hermione slowly opened her eyes.

 

Lesser souls would have been moved at the sight of the tears now trembling on her lashes. Severus Snape was not one of those lesser souls. In fact, he might have gotten just a bit angrier. “I just wanted to write a good story,” she said, gazing sadly in his direction. “About how you were misunderstood and worthy of love.”

 

“By kidnapping one of my students and trying to seduce me while disguised as your victim?” Snape said disbelievingly. “You're even madder than I gave you credit for. Have you any idea the sorts of lawsuits that sort of thing can bring down on my head? You could get me fired! My reputation and credibility would be utterly destroyed! And for what? A complete sham?!”

 

“Quite,” said Dumbledore. “If you could do us a favor and take off your disguise? Perhaps tell us your name?”

 

Not-Hermione sniffled piteously and finally let her glamour slip away. The bushy hair was the first thing to go. Lank brown hair took its place, followed by features that shifted just enough to go from Hermione to someone completely different in a heartbeat. Pimples covered her face. The average person would have put her in her late teens, fresh out of braces and full of ill-conceived notions about how the world worked. Since there were no average people in the room, she was subject to Snape's conclusion: “I knew it! You're part troll.”

 

She gasped. “I am not!” she cried. “Why are you so cruel, Severus?”

 

Snape gave her a dark look for once again using his first name. “Headmaster, if I may be excused? I need to rescue Malfoy from the trick staircase,” he said, rather than respond. As far as he was concerned, he was done talking to the Beast.

 

Not-Hermione thought this was dreadfully unfair. “After all I've written about you!” she said. “Pages and pages—all devoted to showing people that you weren't some nasty unbathed villain! I was going to show the Harry Potter fandom the truth!”

 

“The what?” said Harry. Not-Hermione clamped her mouth shut, eyes bulging. She had said far too much.

 

“Shall I call St Mungo's or should you, Headmaster?” Snape asked.

 

“You can't do this!” shrieked Not-Hermione. “I'm practically your PR agent! Why can't any of you act right? This isn't how my story is supposed to go! Now how am I supposed to finish in time for the contest deadline?”

 

Snape's eyes narrowed. What was this rubbish now? “Contest?”

 

“The fanfiction contest! WIKTT – When I Kissed The Teacher!” Not-Hermione howled, fresh tears in her eyes.

 

Snape and Hermione exchanged glances in their first ever moment of commiseration. “I won't blame you if you get sick first, Granger,” said Snape.

 

“The same to you, Professor,” said Hermione. “It sounds a bit...er...”

 

“Gross,” said Ron helpfully. “Who'd want to kiss Professor Snape? ...no offense, Professor.”

 

Snape just raised an eyebrow. “Fortunately my self-esteem isn't dependent on how kissable my students find me,” he said.

 

This set Not-Hermione off. “What is WRONG with you?” she demanded. “You're supposed to be surly and mysterious and...and...mean! To them! Oh, I'm so far off my schedule and it's because you're all out of character!! Bugger it all! This isn't working! I give up!”

 

Snape opened his mouth to snark, but he was too late. Not-Hermione, in a manner that thoroughly defied all laws of physics, magic, and...well, just life, vanished into thin air. It was as though she had never existed in the first place. Not even the scent of artificial flowers stayed behind.

 

Harry, after a long moment contemplating the captive-less duct tape, said, “So...that's it?”

 

“I hope so,” said Hermione. “I do feel a bit badly for her. I know how frustrating it can be if your project isn't working how you want—”

 

“Don't start, Granger,” said Snape. “She locked you in a closet for the better part of the school year and pretended to be you the whole time.”

 

“Yeah,” said Ron. “She even did your homework and all your studying.”

 

“Come to think of it, that's why I got more answers marked wrong this year,” Harry said. “I kept asking her for help.”

 

Hermione froze. “Oh,” she said. “Oh no. My grades...that _monster_...”

 

Snape smirked. “Now that Miss Granger has been thoroughly cured of any Stockholm syndrome, I suggest we get on with our lives and deal with this latest Death Eater attack, hmm?”

 

“Quite right,” said Dumbledore. “Miss Granger, you should speak to Professor McGonagall about your grades. As for the rest...” They began discussing more important things, the matter of the fake Hermione forgotten.

 

Well, mostly. Snape spared the empty chair one last lingering frown before he headed out to rescue his idiot godson. Unnoticed by all, a tiny voice whispered, “Maybe I'll come back to it later...”

 

 


End file.
